


Coat

by newmoons



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, LGBT, Romance, Widowtracer, cheating tw, queer, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22823986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newmoons/pseuds/newmoons
Summary: * Warning for cheating mention!!
Relationships: Amélie Lacroix/Lena Oxton, Lena "Tracer" Oxton/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix, Lena Oxton x Widowmaker, Lena Oxton/Amélie Lacroix, Lena Oxton/Widowmaker, Tracer X Widowmaker, Tracer/Widowmaker, Widowmaker x Lena Oxton, Widowmaker/Lena Oxton, Widowmaker/Tracer, Widowtracer - Relationship, amelie lacroix x lena oxton, lena oxton x amelie lacroix, widowmaker x tracer
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	Coat

"Don't forget your coat, ma chere, it's cold outside," Amelie said, leaning forward to press a kiss to the back of Lena's neck. The smaller of the pair blushed and turned around, a hand raising to rub the back of the spot where soft lips had pressed.

"Aw, no worries, love," she replied. A grin was on her lips, and one that Amelie knew well. She wondered, somewhere in the back of her mind, in a chest of drawers made of guilt and shame, if this was the smile she had given Emily every time she departed on a mission. _"No worries, love! I'll be back before ya know it!"_

Amelie shook her head, reaching behind them, without breaking contact with Lena, to grip the leather jacket in a fist that did not hide her irritation with herself-- how could she have been such a fool?-- to throw the thing in Lena's face.

The brunette did not make a sound, as she usually would, particularly an agitated _"oi!"_ before flinging the fabric from her face. Amelie wondered if she had gotten bad at hiding her moodswings, or maybe-- what she _wanted_ \-- if Lena simply knew her that well.

They _had_ been dating for quite a while, now. Under circumstances that did not lend them the deservance of such happiness, of course, but quite a while still. These circumstances could be navigated, and so they did. Amelie held Lena while she cried over guilt well-known, her silence much more comforting, she thought, than candy-coated lies. And Lena was the brightness-- every day, like the damn morning sun-- that kept Amelie's hideous past from rearing in the darkness of their room.

 _Their_ room.

Amelie wanted nothing more than to return there now, and pretend Lena wasn't leaving for a mission she might not return from. The thought of a possible threat curled her hand into a fist around what she wished could be her rifle-- but that life wasn't for her anymore, _could not_ be for her anymore. She was reformed, and there was no telling what a little step in the wrong direction could do for the landslide that was her lasting mental health.

One wrong step. Even having weapons in the house... Lena kept her pistols back at Overwatch's base, locked away in a safe somewhere because, well, even _she_ couldn't be trusted now, with her affiliation with Amelie.

Everywhere they went, they were a curse, weren't they? Did they not inflict enough upon themselves each night, each morning, each day they lifted themselves from a mattress that held more nightmares than they could count together, more secrets than could shatter their happiness, to put weight on feet worn from carrying their burdens?

Of course not. Of course not.

Lena's smile wavered in Amelie's peripheral. She reached out-- an action that had taken her _months_ to even consider-- to grip her partner's chin with thumb and forefinger, pulling her attention back to startling gold eyes. She narrowed them, then they softened. She had no time to play Widowmaker-- no time if she wanted Lena to be _hers_. She leaned forward, tipping Lena's chin to her height as she compensated for their opposition, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth, the way the _French_ did.

Lena wasn't shocked anymore. She was more worried-- worried that in the split seconds where Amelie hesitated, something else would possess her, some entity waiting in the shadows of her reformed consciousness, waiting for a thin line of doubt, which they both knew intimately, to sabotage what they had worked so hard to create.

Together.

Oh, but at what cost? How many lives had been taken before Amelie's return? What heart-- Emily's-- had not survived their collision? One night and hundreds, perhaps thousands.

She wasn't allowed to think of that. It was a done deal: Emily had moved on-- some girl Lena hadn't cared to remember, because it wasn't her business and wasn't her care and Emily deserved that privacy, that space untouched by hands dripping in sin-- and she was happy. That was all that she could know. That was all she deserved to know, because Emily deserved a life in which Lena had no lasting hand.

So that was what she got.

Amelie shifted again, this time to bring a hand to Lena's lower back, to pull her against her chest. She knew the pull of furrowed brows together, knew where her mind was going. She could stop it-- she had before, and she would again. Jealousy was a known thing to the sniper, and one that was not held kindly to her resurrected chest.

But, no, no-- they didn't have time. Lena pressed a hand against Amelie's chest, pushed some distance between them. She grabbed the coat that had dropped to the floor between them, and nodded her agreement.

No more. Not today.


End file.
